


The Common Tongue (Of You Loving Me)

by apfelgranate



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Friendship/Love, Language Barrier, Love Confessions, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, Other, POV Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 23:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19283833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apfelgranate/pseuds/apfelgranate
Summary: Dragons can't use words to speak, but that doesn't mean they don't talk. Toothless thought he had been telling HiccupI love youloud and clear for ages, but humans have to make everything so much more complicated.





	The Common Tongue (Of You Loving Me)

**Author's Note:**

> set somewhere between the first and the second movie, though the series’ canon doesn’t play into it. the title is from hozier’s "moment’s silence".

They’re on some small island, one of a cluster of five rocky spires rising from the sea, not special or significant in any way except that neither of them has set foot on it before. Toothless starts to investigate the nooks and crannies for something small and furry to devour while Hiccup unfolds his ever-growing map, retrieves his compass—which humans desperately need to not get lost—and sets charcoal stick to parchment. A little while later, Toothless joins his human again, satisfied and licking his chops. Hiccup makes a grimace that means disgust but he smells happy, and he lifts up his arm without prompting for Toothless to wriggle under it.

“I called it ‘Wiggling Fingers’, if that has your blessing.”

Toothless considers the five new dots of land on their map, then twists his head slightly to take in the actual shape of the islands and lets out a thoughtful croon. Hiccup chuckles and wiggles his own free hand in front of Toothless’s face to demonstrate, and… yes, Toothless can appreciate the similarity.

He chirps and moves his head up and down in an approximation of a human nod. The gesture is still a little strange to him because to dragons it means so much more than a simple _yes_ —recognition, excitement, connection—but Hiccup’s delighted laugh and exaggerated mimicry of the motion makes any dissonance worth it.

“Oh, it does? I’m so grateful.” Hiccup stows away map and charcoal stick and compass and shifts a little so Toothless can properly lay his head in his human’s lap. His hands unerringly find Toothless’s favorite spots to be scratched and dig into the scales.

Eyes closing, Toothless purrs happily. He loves these moments almost as much as flying with Hiccup. Just the two of them, curled up together and, if they’re lucky like right now, basking in the sun. It feels like having a nest again. A real one, not the bitter mockery the Red Death had made of hers.

It’s perfect.

Until Hiccup suddenly stops scratching him—and fails to continue, even when Toothless pushes into the now slack touch of his fingers.

Toothless opens his eyes with a grumble. He’d been enjoying that, and he knows his human was, too, because Hiccup’s scent was bright and warm like happiness. Now it’s even sweeter, deeper… Toothless thinks he must have smelled it before, but he doesn’t know what emotions it belongs to, and looking up in Hiccup’s face doesn’t exactly alleviate that confusion.

Hiccup is staring at him, wide-eyed and soft. He blinks rapidly when Toothless nudges his cheek against Hiccup’s belly and trills in question.

“N-no, nothing’s wrong. I—” Hiccup sighs deeply and rests his face against the top of Toothless’s head. “It’s nothing,” he whispers. “Don’t worry about it.”

Liar, Toothless growls. He moves carefully, shifting his forelegs underneath himself to lift himself up and get in Hiccup’s face. His human’s scent is changing now to something that _is_ familiar, something bitter and salty like fear, and Toothless doesn’t like it one bit.

He rubs his nose against the edge of Hiccup’s jaw and chuffs. Explain.

“Toothless, come on bud, I told you, it’s—”

Toothless tips him over onto his back, and then for good measure, lies down on his chest.

“Wow, that’s real mature of you,” Hiccup wheezes, but there’s fondness hiding in it. Toothless just snorts, rolling his eyes. He can tell it’s working, because Hiccup breathes like when he’s giving in and pretending he’s miffed about it.

Still, it takes a good while until Hiccup finally speaks again.

“I…” He swallows; Toothless can feel his chest move with it.

“I love you,” Hiccup says. Quietly, seriously, like it’s important and fragile. And then, even softer: “Too much, probably.”

Toothless doesn’t know what it means. He’s heard the word before— _love_ —plenty of times, but never in a context that made it clear what it entails exactly. It has something to do with affection, he had thought, but that doesn’t make sense—if that is the case, why is Hiccup making such a fuss about it?

So Toothless does what he always does when Hiccup springs something new and weird and human on him: he cocks his head and chirps inquisitively. Explain.

Hiccup groans and covers his face with his hands. “See, I knew you wouldn’t understand, that’s why I didn’t wanna say anything! Let’s just file it under weird complicated human stuff and never speak of it again, shall we—”

Oh no, no no no. Toothless is suddenly very glad they’re on this tiny spire of an island, because it means Hiccup can’t run off. Well, he probably won’t. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d thrown himself off a cliff with nothing but a flimsy pair of wings and hope between him, and a plummet to his death.

Right now, Toothless wouldn’t mind rushing to save him, because Hiccup smells distressed, and Toothless hates that, wants to wrap his human up in his wings and hold him close. The only problem with that plan is that it would make it too easy for Hiccup to hide away in the embrace, and Toothless does want to understand what has him so rattled. Cuddling will have to wait a bit longer.

He scoops his paws underneath Hiccup’s back and rolls sideways so Hiccup ends up straddling his chest. Carefully, Toothless taps one claw against the corner of Hiccup’s mouth and coos. Talk, explain, help me understand.

“Odin help me,” Hiccup breathes, red-faced, and rubs at his mouth. “Okay. Okay. I… um. So love is like, when you like something or someone, but more. A lot more? And it’s not always the same feeling. I love my dad, I love Astrid, in some strange way I might even love my mom even though I’ve never met her, but those are all different kinds of love. And it’s not just people? I love flying with you—so much, gods help me—and the twins love pranking people, and Snotlout loves attention, and—”

Toothless squints. That explains one thing at least: why he never understood exactly what humans meant when they said _love_. Because despite them having words for seemingly every little inconsequential thing, this one word means a whole world of things. What it doesn’t explain is why Hiccup is so afraid of it.

He purrs, trying to make his human relax, and intersperses it with another trill demanding clarification. How do you love me, then? What kind of love?

“I don’t _know_ ,” Hiccup says, and he sounds… helpless. “It feels like my chest won’t hold it.” Toothless warbles softly, touching Hiccup’s ribcage. It’s small and thin like the rest of his human, even if he’s been gaining height in the past seasons. Hiccup chuckles, the noise of it strained. “Sorry, image-talk. My ribs are fine.”

Toothless snorts in exasperation, then nudges a claw against Hiccup’s jaw again to indicate he should keep talking. And Hiccup does—haltingly at first, then faster, the words spilling out of him in a whispered torrent.

“I want to—I think about growing old and you’re always there. Tuffnut makes these, these jokes about you being my other half but it’s not—it doesn’t feel like a joke to me? I want so many things and I want you with me for all of them, I want to find the edge of the world just so I can share the sight of it with you. When we’re together, no matter where we are, I feel like I’m _home_.”

Home. Roost. Flock. Nest.

Nest.

Oh. That’s what he means.

For a moment, Toothless is stunned—and then he laughs. Big, barrel-chested chortles, that make Hiccup bounce and slip-slide-tumble off of his chest with an indignant yell.

_That’s_ what his human has been worried about? Toothless knows that already.

“Oh, yeah, go ahead, laugh it up. You're lucky you damned lizards can't talk so you'll never have to pour out your heart to anyone.” Hiccup sounds almost hurt, his red face twisting up and turning away… And Toothless realizes that, maybe, somehow, Hiccup didn’t know Toothless knew. That he doesn't know Toothless loves him the same way.

Which would be _ridiculous_ , but humans tend to be that way—especially _his_ human.

Toothless scrambles to his feet and circles around Hiccup, bumping his snout against his human’s chin and purring so hard it makes his ears vibrate. He nods again, the human way, wildly, trying to tell Hiccup that he knows, that he understands, because the same ocean of affection fills his own chest.

Hiccup blinks and stares, then blinks some more. Then his jaws drops.

“What in Hel’s name do you mean, _you know_? I just had to explain my—my _feelings_ in excruciating detail, you big lug—”

Toothless huffs and decides to change tack. He pushes his snout into the hollow of Hiccup’s throat, crooning softly. Hiccup lets out a confused squawk and lets him, like he’s done countless times before.

Human skin is fragile, and their blood thrums right beneath it at their throats—Toothless could extend his teeth right now and tear it open and Hiccup wouldn’t be able to stop him. With as much care as he can muster, Toothless extends his teeth and nudges their blunt sides against Hiccup’s skin, then pulls away.

You trust me with this. You trust me with your life, always.

“To-Toothless?”

Hiccup is staring again, wide-eyed, as Toothless brings his tail around and flaps the fins in his human’s face, the one of flesh and blood and bone and scales, and the one Hiccup made for him. The one Hiccup steers when they’re flying together. The one Toothless chose to keep when Hiccup gave him one he could have controlled by himself.

I trust you with mine, too.

Hiccup’s hand rises to touch the spot where Toothless pressed his teeth and his whole face scrunches up with confusion.

“What are you trying to tell me, bud? Of course I trust you, that isn’t new, I mean—we trust each other, but what I’m talking about is… it’s different…”

Of course it’s different; trust is just the _spark—_!

Toothless swallows a snarl, tail flicking in irritation. He paces, trying to think of a way to make Hiccup understand.

It shouldn’t be this _hard_. When they’re in the air they don’t even have to talk to understand each other. They anticipate one another, they move like one being, as close as two souls can be without sharing the same body.

And Hiccup feels that, he just said so, but he thinks that… what, that Toothless doesn’t? The thought suddenly turns terrifying, that he won’t be able to make Hiccup understand just _how much_ he means to Toothless. He warbles softly, unable to keep the desperation inside: it’s one small word and it’s a mess and it means the world—

—and Toothless can’t speak.

What else is there? Hiccup said he loves Stoick, but Toothless doesn’t remember his human ever saying it out loud to the big man, or if any other gestures accompanied the declaration. But Astrid… Astrid! Hiccup loves her, and Toothless knows she loves him too because he was there when she said it, and she had done that thing with their mouths humans call kissing.

So he rises up on his hind legs, folds his wings behind him, and totters to and fro a bit, trying to imitate human walking.

“Toothless…?” Hiccup murmurs, watching Toothless with attentive confusion. “Buddy, you’ve lost me.” Toothless gives a trill of encouragement. He totters over to Hiccup and stops in front of him. The way he’s seen Astrid do it, he puts his paws on either side of Hiccup’s waist, bends down, and presses the tip of his snout against Hiccup’s mouth.

His human makes a really strange, strangled little noise. Toothless goes down on all fours again, then stretches his neck to mimic a human kiss once more. Finally he shifts a little to lick and nuzzle Hiccup’s cheek, his jaw, the way he has done for years now. He coos, trying to pack every last flicker of love he feels for his human into the sound.

Hiccup’s eyes grow even wider, his face even ruddier. It makes the little warm brown spots that litter his skin look even darker. And finally, that bright happy scent starts to creep back into his smell.

“You—” His voice is so quiet it nearly cracks. Small and afraid and hopeful. “You love me, is that what you’re saying?”

Yes! Yes yes _yes—_

Toothless nods and purrs, relief flooding through him like wildfire. He pushes his snout once more into the hollow of Hiccup’s throat to nuzzle him, unable to stop himself. 

“You love me the same way I love you?” Hiccup asks. “All that sappy stuff about home and growing old together… You feel that way, too?”

This time, Toothless’s answering nod knocks his snout against Hiccup’s chin but his human doesn’t seem to care one whit, because he catches Toothless’s jaw with his small gentle hands and nuzzles him right back. His nose brushes against Toothless’s cheekbone, against the edge of his jaw, down to his throat. It’s a dragon nuzzle, and something in Toothless’s chest melts in ways he didn’t know it could.

“You love me,” Hiccup breathes. It doesn’t sound like a question this time, even if his voice is full of wonder. Toothless croons and Hiccup makes another small strange noise, a cross between a giggle and a sob. “You’ve been saying it for a while, haven’t you?”

Another nod, another nuzzle. For seasons upon seasons, but Toothless is too giddy with affection to be cross about it.

“Thor’s hammer, I am _so_ stupid,” Hiccup mutters, which makes Toothless chortle. He shrugs his wings and blows a tiny puff of hot air in Hiccup’s face. He loves his brilliant idiot little human so much—and his brilliant idiot little human loves him too.

Hiccup pulls a face at the dragon breath, but it melts into a wide grin within heartbeats. His arms wrap around Toothless’s neck and Toothless decides that the time for excessive cuddling has come _now_ , no question about it. He wraps all his limbs around Hiccup and rolls them into a little dip in the ground until he comes to rest on his back again, with Hiccup’s weight spread along his throat and chest.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to figure this out,” Hiccup says quietly in the small dark cavern that Toothless’s wings have created for them. “It’s just… no one tells you how this stuff works?” He draws a shuddering breath, but it doesn’t seem like he’s done talking, so Toothless rumbles softly to show he’s listening. “I can’t—I couldn’t exactly ask anyone, ‘Hey, I think I want to spend the rest of my life with my best friend who’s a dragon instead of any human, what does that mean?’ They’d think I’m crazy—well, crazier than usual. Feelings like that are supposed to be about other humans, not…”

Toothless chuffs gently and rubs his snout into Hiccup’s hair. Humans have a habit of making simple things so much more complicated—it’d be a miracle if _his_ human was immune to that.

“Yeah yeah, we’re ridiculous, dragons are the sensible ones, I know,” Hiccup mutters but he’s chuckling. His hands scratch along Toothless’s throat scales and he nudges his head into the hollow of Toothless’s throat, rubbing back and forth in mimicry of Toothless’s caress. Toothless warbles with the weight of emotion it calls up. His lungs are full of stars and love and his fire is licking up his throat from it.

“Uh, Toothless?” Hiccup tries to push himself up into a sitting position, away from the heat building in Toothless’s throat. His head hits wing membrane, and Toothless’s wings flap open. Toothless hastily swallows the fire back down, hiccuping. He gives his human a gummy smile, sparks leaking out from the corners of his maw.

“Buddy, promise me you’re not gonna try to lick me while that’s happening, okay?” Hiccup’s brows crinkle. “ _Why_ is this happening?”

Toothless coos and touches Hiccup’s skinny chest again. He’s starting to understand what Hiccup had meant when he’d said his chest wouldn’t hold up.

His human snorts out a small laugh. “Love’s messing you up inside, that’s your excuse?”

Toothless trills, and Hiccup’s expression softens. “Oh, I know. I love you too.”

Oh, Toothless will have to figure out how to keep his love inside his chest so it doesn’t spill out in burning plasma. It’ll be difficult, because right now Hiccup is looking down at him, cheeks ruddy and hair mussed, framed by blue sky and windswept clouds. His scent has deepened, sweetened once more to that strange happy-adjacent blend Toothless smelled before.

A deep purr settles in his frame, bone-deep comfort and affection. He pats Hiccup’s cheeks with his paws, part human gesture, part their own. It makes his human giggle, and so he squeezes gently, squishing up Hiccup’s face.

“Doothleth!” Hiccup sputters, laughing and pushing at his forelegs until Toothless relents. “You want me to say it more, is that it?”

Toothless blinks innocently. Hiccup’s eyebrows disappear utterly into his hairline as he leans forward.

“You mean the world to me, bud,” he says, “but you really need to work on your poker face.” Toothless sticks his tongue out at him, and then licks Hiccup’s nose because he can.

“Wow. I’m rethinking my undying love for you now, you big scaly menace.” Toothless chortles, and freezes when Hiccup leans further and licks him in retaliation.

“I love you,” Hiccup says, grinning so wide it looks like it should hurt. “I love you so much.”

A new wave of happiness washes through Toothless, and he feels another flicker of flame escape his maw. He wants, needs to move, give the excitement somewhere to go. He wiggles, flaps his wings against the ground; Hiccup gets the message quickly and clambers off of him. He doesn’t stop touching Toothless though, rubbing tight circles into the scales on either side of Toothless’s spinal ridge. Toothless bows his spine into it with delight, winding around his human.

“Heard it enough already?” Hiccup asks. “I was working up to a really good one, too, I—” he breaks off, his expression sombering.

“I won’t be able to say it around other humans,” he continues quietly. “Not like this.”

Toothless stills, gives him a look.

Right. Love is for humans and other humans, not humans and dragons.

He remembers the soft addendum his human had made to that first declaration: I love you— _too much, probably_. It’s bitterly clear now what prompted it, but Toothless refuses to even entertain the idea of pretending Hiccup doesn’t mean the world to him. Besides, Toothless has been telling him _I love you_ for ages and he’s not about to stop _now_ that Hiccup finally understands the depth of what it means, even if Toothless can’t use words to speak—

Ah.

Toothless bumps his head against his human’s hip. He opens his maw and makes nonsense sounds, then clamps it shut again.

“No words?” Hiccup clarifies. “Yes, that’s what I said—”

Toothless very gently nuzzles his cheek, catching the corner of his mouth. He croons, and gives Hiccup an expectant look.

Hiccup blinks. “Oh— _oh_ , you mean—yeah, that’s—blatantly obvious, in hindsight. Odin’s beard, I’m really on top of things today.”

Rolling his eyes fondly at the sarcasm and self-deprecation, Toothless presents his head for nuzzling. Hiccup gives a soft sound, like a sigh. He touches Toothless’s jaw, leans in, brushes his lips along the scales below Toothless’s eye.

It’s tender, the giddiness from before molten into softness. It’s tender, just enough pressure to the touch for Toothless to feel it through his scales. It’s tender, it leaves him shivering. He wants to leap, fly, for the buzzing beneath his skin; he never wants to move as long as Hiccup rains this affection down on him.

The caresses morph from human kisses to dragon nuzzles and back, become a thing of their own, the way Toothless touching Hiccup’s face has grown into a meaning that belongs only to the two of them. There are no words here, either, but Toothless hears them anyway, pressed into his skin and scales with every touch of Hiccup’s hands and mouth and cheek and nose.

I love you, I love you, I love you so much…

Eventually, Hiccup breaks the silence with a whisper: “You’re trembling.” It’s barely a question; his voice trembles, too.

Toothless nods; slightly, loathe to dislodge his human’s touch. He raises his wings, stretches them wide, lets a growl climb from his throat.

Fly with me?

Hiccup makes that strange soft half-laugh noise again. “Yes,” he breathes, already moving, just as Toothless is moving, “yes, _gods yes_ , don’t even have to _ask_ —”

He slots into place above Toothless’s shoulders, the weight of him warm and right where it should be. The prosthesis clicks into place barely a second later, moves to match Toothless’s flesh-and-blood tailfin. Toothless arches his spine with barely a thought, meeting Hiccup halfway where he’s bending down to press a kiss into the nape of Toothless’s neck.

As one, they leap into the sky.


End file.
